


A Series of Firsts

by nuricurry



Category: Saint Seiya Omega
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuricurry/pseuds/nuricurry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he was entirely honest with himself, he would admit he was not cut out for this. Spoilers for the end of Saint Seiya Omega.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Series of Firsts

The first day, he learned how strange it felt to have someone look up at him.  
  
And it wasn’t just in the physical sense, he was used to that obviously, when he hit puberty hard at fourteen and hadn’t quite stopped growing since, like a weed with iron-clad roots. He meant someone looking up to him as a person to actually like, or respect, or think well of, when he was used to being glared at and spit on and told he was _dirty_ and _pathetic_ and _weak_. Having a bunch of kids, honestly not much younger than him, tilt their heads up at him, respect and excitement shining in their eyes, it made him feel uncomfortable, and it was enough to make him choke.  
  
"I can’t do this," he told Kiki, except then he turned to him with those same eyes that the trainees had been looking at him with, and he smiled like what Harbinger said was some sort of joke, when nothing could be farther from the truth. "No, seriously, I quit."  
  
"You don’t ‘quit’," Kiki explained, the most foreboding and horrifying thing ever uttered hitting Harbinger’s ears like the screech of tires of pavement. "This is kind of a life-time commitment."  
  
How the fuck could he smile like that, like it wasn’t a big, huge, terrible idea that Harbinger was supposed to be in charge of Sanctuary for the rest of his life. He was twenty-three; that was at least ten years (hey he did some dumb shit in his life okay), which was approximately ten years more than Harbinger had planned on doing this spiel. He was actually hoping that by now Athena would have realized her mistake and he would have been politely let go so he could return to New York and live a normal life that didn’t involve kids calling him ‘Pope’ and Kiki smiling at him like this was a great moment in his life. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing.  
  
"You’ll get used to it," Kiki promised, before gently patting Harbinger on the back.  
  
  
  
The first month, he learned that fashion had died and he was stuck wearing it’s corpse.  
  
It was the twenty-first century and Athena gave him a tent to wear and more gold necklaces than the entire Wu Tang Clan wore combined. It was a testament to his upbringing that the first thing he thought about when he was shown the big tacky rosaries and pendants he had to wear was that if he pawned off even one of them he’d have enough to buy a motorcycle and get the hell out of this stupid responsibility and terrible wardrobe.  
  
It was Shun who showed him how to wear the robes, and which necklaces were worn on what occasion, and where to put the helmet when he needed it shined (he vaguely remember someone mentioning he had been the pope for awhile, before he ended up having to step down after Mars stole his cosmo, which Harbinger thought was totally unfair because with the guy gone he didn’t get to pull that get out of jail free card), but even he didn’t have any advice about what to actually do as pope other than the same broken record Harbinger kept hearing from everyone else.  
  
"Just do what you think is right," Shun smiled, and it was almost enough to make him start pulling his hair out by the roots.  
  
"Does anyone remember I used to break people?" he asked, because _seriously_ , how could anyone think he was the authority on doing the right thing?  
  
Shun had just laughed, and then told him about how the white robes were for ceremonies and the black robes were for business.  
  
  
  
The first year, he learned his patience hadn’t improved all that much, when after hour five of his first portrait session, he had to rip off his clothes and go run around outside.  
  
The painter kept trying to call him back but he just ignored him, and instead flew down the steps, past every temple along the way, until he was in the main grounds and there wasn’t someone telling him to hold still so they could get the creepy angle of his scar just right.  
  
"Harbinger!" Raki’s voice carried over from where she was sparring with a few other saint hopefuls, and she quickly knocked the boy she had been dodging on his back before skipping over to talk to him, "Hey! Did you see?"  
  
"Yeah, good job," he complimented her a bit distractedly, unable to really think about what she had done when he was instead looking at her face. Or at least, the thing that covered it. "You know, I’ve always thought this but those masks are super creepy."  
  
"Shut up!" she squawked, kicking him hard in the shin. Some of the younger kids who had come to see him up close gasped when she did that, all frozen with terror, until Harbinger laughed and pushed down playfully on her head.  
  
"Was that supposed to hurt?" he teased, ruffling her hair as Raki flailed and fought, "C’mon, I know Kiki’s taught you better than that."  
  
"Bully!" Raki huffed as she finally pushed his hand off her hair, sniffing a bit as she went to fix it’s ponytail, "Start picking on someone your own size, Mr. Pope."  
  
He frowned at her, though it was clear it was more of a pout. “Hey, don’t call me that,” he reminded her.  
  
"Harbinger!" another pair of trainees ran up to him, reaching out to pull on his fingers, "Hey, come help us with our blocking! You’re the best at that!"  
  
Rolling his eyes, but letting himself be pulled along, Harbinger played at having only reluctantly relented. Moving over to the other part of the training grounds, he showed the kids how to get into the right stance, before explaining to them how to return any attack twice over.  
  
  
  
In the first ten years, he learned that he could probably stand to stick around for ten more.


End file.
